Rushed, rushed, rushed...

It's a crazy day, so I don't have time to blog like I'd like to. Oh, the inconvenience of having a job :) But last night I was alone with Hank while Mike was in class, and I was exhausted by the time the evening was over. This is supposed to be my free time? Five minutes before Mike had to leave, as I was rushing to eat so that I could move on the myriad of chores I had to do, we suddenly realize that the house smells like a barnyard. Yes, Hank had pooed right into his Lightening McQueen underpants. And this after having sat on the potty a mere twenty minutes prior and me asking in the interim at least five times if he had to use the potty. Sigh.

After cleaning up the mess (toddler poo is like a whole 'nother entity onto itself), I jumped into the shower while Hank watched a cartoon. I'm furiously scrubbing my hair, hurrying, as Hank opens the shower door.

"Mommy, what you doing in there? Mommy, what's *that*?"

Here's where an R rating comes into play, so read on at your own peril.

"Honey, don't worry about that, it's just part of mommy's body. Why don't you go watch Spider Man until I'm done?"

"But Mommy, is that your penis? How come it has hai..."

"ok honey, please don't worry about it. Remember, mommies have different body parts, they don't have penises." (peni? Anyway, for whatever reason we have no difficulty telling Hank that he has a penis, but the word 'vagina' completely freaks me out).

"But Mommy..."

The evening continued with yet more fun from there. I went to bake my Amish Friendship Bread and realized that I didn't have the required pudding mix. A vicious stream of expletives ensues. With soaking wet hair, in my pink panda bear flannel pajamas, I bundled Hank up and ran to the convenience store. We get back and put the bread in the oven. I embark on laundry. I start the water in the tank and open the lid. A load of clothes is *already* in the washer, and they stink. Another expletive. See a trend here? I have to re-wash those first. When I later move those to the dryer, and put my original load in the washing machine, things really get interesting. It's about a full ten to fifteen minutes later, and I make an important realization: I forgot to put detergent into the washing machine. I run downstairs, Hank clinging to my leg the whole way, and find the clothes in the spin cycle. I won't write what I said, because it was BAD. I mean, BAD. I should go to confession just for this particular statement. I yank open the lid and force the cycle back. I swear it, the machine formed a little bubble over it's lid that said "dude, wtf?!" It was just one of *those* evenings.

This morning at work, I had a meeting at 9 am that can only be characterized as absolutely excruciating. I hurry back for my 10 am reference shift to find a student *waiting* at the reference desk for someone to arrive. As I helped her, *three* more people piled up, one of whom was a student with a paper due in two hours and needed help "finding topics." It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone.